


The Past of The Past

by crowsaerie



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: F/M, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-14
Updated: 2020-04-14
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:14:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23657422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crowsaerie/pseuds/crowsaerie
Summary: Illyane remembers what happened a lifetime ago.
Relationships: Solus zos Galvus | Emet-Selch/Warrior of Light
Kudos: 12
Collections: Final Fantasy XIV - Emet-Selch x WoL Recommendations





	The Past of The Past

**Author's Note:**

> Came to me in a dream, so I must write.

On the precipice, she stood, watching the spires of Amaurot as they gleamed in the distance. A strange melancholy had seeped into her heart- an unusually timed ache. Illyane pressed her hand to her chest as she tried to calm herself, wondering all the while why such a view meant so much to her. Was it simple beauty? Or something more?

  
"The things I could tell you about this place." Came a voice- one she had come to know almost irritatingly well.

  
Instead of annoyance, however, she turned to empathy. "It feels familiar. Like I've been here before. Like something happened. Something..."

  
"Terrible?"

  
Illyane turned her head, catching a glimpse of the man dressed in Garlean finery, his back never straight, his shoulders ever slouching. Emet-Selch. Instead of looking at her, however, his eyes were busy taking in the illusion of the city.

  
"Yes...," She answered at last. Her brow knit tightly as she searched the Ascian's face for an answer, and unsurprisingly, found none. "... terrible."

  
He moved to stand beside her, and Illyane turned her gaze back to the vista of Amaurot. Together they were silent, for the moment; no animosity, no violence came between them, only a shared feeling of regret that had come from so many miles across the sea of time.

  
"Once upon a time, it was only us," Emet-Selch began, "we unsundered souls and this place. A peaceful people lived here. I lived here. You..."

  
Illyane glanced at him from the corner of her eye.

  
"...what was once you, lived here. Mayhap that is why you feel what I feel. A longing, for something that once was."

  
"Me?" She nearly whispered.

  
"Everyone that you have ever known, everyone that had lived, and everyone that may yet live is but a fraction of a whole. Pure, unbound souls that could create things- beautiful things. They were people. But, thanks to your Mothercrystal, this is no longer the case."

  
 _Thanks to you_ , he meant to say. But the words were bitter, and full of hurt, even after all this time. And for some strange reason, he wanted to keep the peace between them. For now.

  
As she watched him, he noticed how Illyane's eyes shimmered faintly in the darkness of the Tempest. The same shade of amber he remembered. _The same shade they used to be..._

  
Emet-Selch stepped into her view, moving _uncomfortably_ close to her. She instinctively drew back, but he had a hold of her forearm- a gentle hold, but it kept her there, nonetheless. She looked up to him, her brow furrowed, as he pressed his thumb to her forehead. "Stay still." He whispered. 

  
Let me show you. She didn't hear it, but then again, she didn't see him anymore. The whirr of time flashed before her eyes, as it had done so many times before when she was receiving a vision from Hydaelyn. But this time it was different. Rather than stand on a cliff overlooking Amaurot, she was in its streets, only able to watch as the robed, masked figures passed her by. Amaurotines. Her kinsmen. She reached out, but the vision changed. She came to a large garden, populated by large, beautiful flowers and strange, flying insects she had never seen before. Though the colors in her previous visions were always muted, this time they were vibrant and bold, as if they had come out of her own memories.

  
Illyane drew close to two figures seated beneath what appeared to be a large willow tree. They leaned against each other, asleep in the garden. Their hoods were pulled back, and she could see a familiar face- was that Emet-Selch? She had only a moment to wonder as she looked upon the other figure: a woman, someone she had never seen before. Or had she? As she peered closer, Illyane saw her own face. 

  
She was surprised, yet somehow she expected this. Again, she could not reach them in time, as her vision shifted once more. An assembly of robed figures, with her at the front. She was being formally welcomed into the Convocation- _what was the Convocation?_ Why did she know that name? Among the many faces of her peers, she recognized a few- Lahabrea, Elidibus, Emet-Selch...

  
The vision shifted again. An argument, behind closed doors and shuttered panes. Illyane could not hear the words, and only felt that doom was on her doorstep, and that she must be willing to sacrifice a few to save many. Immediately she felt appalled- _betrayed_. There came a welling in her throat, a sob trying to come out. _Please don't do this, please don't-_

  
Fire rained from the skies and the twisted, ugly forms of beasts stalked the streets of Amaurot. Scores of dead lined gutters and alleyways, the panicked shapes of the still-living trying their damnedest to escape. It was too late. It was all over: over for her, over for _them_ , over for everyone. Then all at once, the sky cleared. A figure appeared in the heavens, vanishing the beasts in a shroud of darkness, covering the city in black. Whoever still lived was wholly dead when the smoke lifted, and the figure had vanished from the skies.

  
Illyane had no idea how far away she was now, as she drifted in the emptiness of her vision. _I have seen enough, let me out,_ she thought, but she didn't know if her words could reach him. In her minds eye, she could see Hydaelyn materializing out of the black. Closer and closer she drew, but her vision was blinded suddenly by a series of images.

  
Emet-Selch had courted her, once. With gifts of beautiful bluebirds, butterflies, clouds, crystals, and flowers.

  
Emet-Selch had kissed her once, and many times after that. She remembered every one.

  
Emet-Selch had loved her, once, and she had loved him. _And yet..._

  
She betrayed _him_. She turned her back on him, on the Convocation, on everyone that she knew and loved. She fled to the furthest reaches of the earth.

  
She was never the same again.

  
Illyane opened her eyes. Tears were streaming down her face as the blurry form of Emet-Selch took shape just before her. He removed his hand from her head, his other hand still gently holding her arm as she came to. A mixture of shame, regret, and confusion welled in her stomach. No words would come to her.

  
Nor did the Ascian seek them. In one swift motion, he pulled her close and pressed his lips to hers. He could sense as clear as day the conflicting feelings that flowed from her lips and eyes. In this moment, he would remember her as she used to be, as _they_ used to be, and even if one of them were to die in that hour, their last moment would be one of reconnection.

  
She fought him at first, every fiber in her body strung tight in protest. Her hands moved to his chest, tangling in the fine silks he wore, trying to push him off, but she wasn't really putting up much of a fight. The feeling settled in her that, somehow, this was natural. That she was meant to do this. And soon, she didn't want to stop.

  
That was when he broke away, his breath heavy- as was hers. She looked up at him from half-lidded eyes, her lips parted and something in her eyes begging for more. But that was all he could take.

  
Emet-Selch dismissed her. Illyane fell to the earth, giving out a heave as her consciousness left her.

  
When she awoke again, she was in her room at the Crystarium. Her mind was foggy as she pushed herself from her bed, the memories of hours before no longer swirling in her mind, gone in an instant as though they were just a dream. She lifted her hand, looking over it to see if the overflowing light was still in her body.

  
Her hand was pure white, and glowing. She was still on the edge of transformation.

  
Illyane stood, pulled on her boots, grabbed her blade, and headed for the door. The Tempest yet awaited her.


End file.
